Gutter Rats
by ncfan
Summary: "They say God takes care of those who take care of themselves. If that's the case, God stopped paying attention to Inoue Sora a long time ago." 20 drabbles. Sora, Orihime. Gen. Canon-compliant. In-progress.
1. 01: Gutter Rats

**Title**: Gutter Rats**  
>AN**: I had an idea for this already, but Penny's comment was what triggered it. Say thanks to Penny, everyone! I don't know when updates will be, if you're wondering. There will be twenty chapters as it says on the cover and I feel the need to direct you all to chapters 288, 289 and 290 of my general drabble series _Time in Seconds_; the former two deal with Sora before he takes Orihime and makes a run for the border, and the latter deals with Orihime after she's had her hair forcibly cut.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>Christians say that God takes care of those who take care of themselves, and if that's true Inoue Sora can only assume that either God hasn't been paying much attention to him or that he just doesn't care. If that's the case, God stopped paying attention to him long ago. The only one who's ever taken care of Sora has been himself. No one else has ever bothered to care.<p>

_God doesn't listen to my prayers. He never has._

He and his sister have never been anything but gutter rats, and true to form they sleep outside tonight, buffeted by the wind, Sora shielding tiny little Orihime from the worst of it, flinching at the icy breath.

Sora and Orihime are gutter rats, raised in the filth and never given more than a moment's breath of fresh air for every year that they live. What Sora has known is depravity, debauchery and the cruelty of man, counted in every bruise on his body, every scar, every bone once broken that has since healed. Orihime is beginning to realize the sheer ugliness of the world and she's felt it in every bruise she's ever borne as much as her brother.

Cold and flinching, Sora looks at his sister, and wonders what she would have ended up being, if she had stayed in that world.

_A thief? A junkie? A whore like our mother, prostituting herself to any man who asks for a quick payout? _She's pretty; she'll be a real beauty when she's grown. Sora looks at Orihime and his arms tighten around her. _She'd have been swallowed whole by the time she was fifteen, never to be seen again._

God knows they both would have been, even if Sora's so sure He's abandoned them.

The squalid apartment, full of screams and rage that was a mockery of home completely unraveled is left behind. Sora will never go to find it again. His life in that world is done and even if he's a gutter rat all his life he will _never_ go back there again.

The landlord is a man who doesn't ask much questions of his tenants; his reasoning is that he probably doesn't want to know. He looks at Sora and sees a boy he would never guess to be eighteen. His guess is closer to twenty-five—this young man is so ingrained with weariness, nervousness and shadows that no one would ever mistake him for a child. The girl asleep in Sora's arms he assumes to be his daughter and Sora doesn't correct him.

_Come back tomorrow,_ he said with a sympathetic tone and a negligent wave of the hand. _The previous tenant's not done moving his things out of the one you're looking at. It'll be ready for you tomorrow; come back then._

There are no hotels within walking distance and the buses don't come to this part of town. Sora returns outside and gets down on the ground in an alleyway, still cradling Orihime to his chest and using the duffel bag as a pillow. There are aluminum trash cans on one side of him and empty crates on the other; they don't help with the wind at all. If Sora looks up, in a window high on the brick wall opposite him he can see the soft, golden light of a television set; it flickers like a mechanical candle for a material age.

_It's just one more night. Tomorrow morning there will be a new roof and a new bed and a new life altogether._

Sora sets his jaw grimly.

He and Orihime, they've lived their lives in Hell for so many years. One more night won't change anything.


	2. 02: The New Apartment

**Title**: The New Apartment**  
>AN**: So you guys know, this isn't going to be nearly as in-depth as _Entropy_, seeing as it will only be twenty chapters long.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>Sora's temper explodes within three seconds of taking a look at his and his sister's new home. "Where's all the furniture?" he demands of his now-sheepish landlord. "This is supposed to be a <em>furnished<em> apartment!"

The landlord won't meet his eyes, instead staring at the ceiling with a casualness plainly forced. "The tenant before the last one took all the furniture with him—packed up in the middle of the middle of the night when I put the eviction notice on his door and decided he'd take some extra stuff with him. The next tenant was too poor to afford furniture."

Hands curling into fists, Sora resists the urge to swear (a habit picked up from watching his father); Orihime is, after all, still in the room. _Deep breaths; calm down. You are not like him, you are _not_ like him… _"Couldn't you have tracked him down and made him give you the furniture back?"

"Nope." The landlord shakes his head as an especially grim little smile flits over his face. "Because he was stone dead three weeks after leaving my building and the place where he was staying had been looted."

"Oh." Sora isn't entirely sure what to say to this; a few quick calculations are done in his head. "If I bought furniture for this apartment, would I be able to take it with me, legally, if I ever moved somewhere else?"

The landlord mutters something inaudible.

"Sir?"

He looks up and shrugs. "Yeah, sure." If anything, the landlord looks like he'd have rather avoided this question.

Sora smiles a little and nods. "Thanks."

Still muttering to himself, the landlord gives Sora his key and leaves his two new tenants to themselves—the paperwork still has to be finalized; he'll come back later in the afternoon, or so he calls over his shoulder.

Once left alone, Sora turns his attention back to Orihime. She's inspecting the refrigerator (_At least we still have _that_, even if there isn't a chair_) with the fascination of a small child. Sora stops her just short of climbing inside.

_Sleeping bags aren't all that expensive, all things considered. They'll have to do until I can earn enough to buy proper furniture, which may be a while._

The apartment building runs a free daycare service, so Sora at least knows where Orihime will be able to go while he goes to work. _They had better take good care of her; I haven't protected her this long just to lose her because of someone else's incompetence._

Orihime's wide brown eyes look into his own. "Is this where we're staying?"

Sora smiles tiredly and puts a hand on her head. "Yes, it is."


	3. 03: Crying Anyway

**Title**: Crying Anyway**  
>AN**: Even if her parents did treat her like dirt, Orihime is likely going to miss them—she's not old enough at this point not to and she never knew any life but the one she had.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>She's happy for about two weeks. For the first two weeks Orihime's just treating this like a big vacation and Sora, Sora is content with that. He doesn't have to answer awkward, heavy questions and Orihime's always happy to see him when he comes to pick her up from the daycare service in the late afternoon.<p>

After two weeks, it starts to fall apart, and Sora doesn't know what to do, doesn't even know why she's doing this.

"When are we gonna see Mommy and Daddy again?" Orihime asks one day with a deeply troubled expression on her small face. Her fingers curl like little pincers around his pant leg and she rests her head against his knee, staring out of huge brown eyes.

Sora licks suddenly dry lips; how he'd hoped he wouldn't have to be asked this question or answer it. "We're not," he answers shortly, perhaps too short a tone to be used on any child, let alone her, and goes back to swiping mustard over the sandwich he's making.

Sora's intent and hope was that Orihime would take this answer in silence and be content with it, but she doesn't, of course she doesn't.

"But why?" Orihime pleads, voice starting to shake. "Why can't we go home? I want to see Mommy again."

The moment tears start to leak down Orihime's pale, round cheeks is the moment when Sora starts to curse their mother's extremely rare moments of kindness (or at least benign indifference) towards his sister. _Damn it, why does she remember that so easily but not all the times they hit her? She knows better than to cry in front of anyone but me so why doesn't she know why we can't go back home?_

All thoughts of eating are abandoned; Sora's lost his appetite and Orihime always feels nauseous if she tries to eat after crying.

Orihime doesn't bother to fight as Sora picks her up and lays her down in the pink sleeping bag he found at a secondhand store for her (it'll be months before Sora has the sort of money saved that can buy a bed of any quality). "We can't go back; we just can't."

He listens to her sniffle and hiccup for ten minutes before Orihime finally drops off to sleep, reddened, bloodshot eyelids ceasing to flutter.

Sora doesn't know what to say or do. He just hopes beyond anything that she won't ask him that again. _Orihime will forget them in time. She's only three; she won't always remember them or this. One day 'parents' will be a distant dream to Orihime and I'll be the only parent she can remember._

Still, Sora dreads the moment when she'll wake up.


	4. 04: Scrapes

**Title**: Scrapes**  
>AN**: Sora's freak-out reaction has a purpose. Think about it.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p><em>Your mind is still swallowed even if your body is removed. You still think like you're living in that place, and you always will.<em>

It's the sound of a thin peal of crying from the open window that sends Sora running out of his apartment. He's kept the window open, letting in the summer heat because even if it is unbearable the air conditioner is off and he can hear Orihime from there.

Sora's just gotten home from work. He's been letting their neighbor, a woman in her thirties who wanted children but could never have them, look after Orihime while he's at work since the daycare system was shut down by the police. The money he has to pay her (a reasonable price but still…) eats into Sora's savings but it's worth it.

At least, it's worth it up until Sora hears his baby sister crying. Then, nothing is worth it anymore.

The newspaper is abandoned and falls to the floor; Sora skips the last three steps of the stairs. The door is swung open with the force roughly equivalent to a baby elephant ramming its head into a particularly flimsy acacia tree.

Outside, the sunlight is too bright and the heat is overwhelming. The blood on Orihime's knee stands out like garish red paint (_like the lipstick their mother wore and that strapless red top that was always sliding down a little too far_) and her skin is white beneath.

Sora's brain flips on in one way and off in another.

Immediately, he's at his sister's side, gathering her up into his arms and glaring daggers at their neighbor, who was crouched beside Orihime, gently rubbing her back. "Why weren't you watching her?" he hisses venomously. If looks could kill the woman would be stone dead right about now.

The neighbor, Hiroko by name, shakes her black-haired head. "I was watching her," she explains defensively.

Orihime whimpers and Sora runs a hand through her wisps of copper hair comfortingly. "Then why didn't you stop it?" he spits bitterly, and starts to walk back inside. Orihime's coming inside for the day.

Hiroko stands and starts to walk after him; her dark eyes are wide in indignation. "What do I look like to you, God? Orihime-chan fell down and scraped her knee; it happens to everyone. It'll happen a hundred times again, maybe even a thousand."

"Not if I can help it," Sora vows, and flings the door open. "And don't bother knocking tomorrow morning."

Sora doesn't see the hurt, even anguished look that flits over Hiroko's face and even if he did see it, he wouldn't care. She let his sister get hurt. He knows better than to trust her with Orihime again.

Sora will never let Orihime get hurt again, will never that happen. Never.


	5. 05: Ghost in Her Flesh

**Title**: Ghost in Her Flesh**  
>AN**: Hello again.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>Normally, elementary schools don't make their students wear school uniforms anymore but there's one nearby that offers them for free and Sora will take any extra clothes for his sister that he can get his hands on. They're constantly short of funds—money for food, for the bills, for supplies, for clothes, for anything. If someone's going to <em>give<em> them clothes Sora doesn't see how he's anyone to say 'no'.

Orihime smiles brightly and twists her head around so she can fix her brother in a wide-eyed stare. "Are we almost done?" Even with the slight bite of impatience in her voice she's still flushed with excitement.

The woman doing the alterations mutters something irritably at Orihime's squirming and Sora props his head on one palm and gives an amused twitch of a smile. "Yes. Now hold still for the woman making alterations to your uniform." The uniform was a little big when Sora got it from the school, thankfully not so big that it was unable to be altered.

Finally, they're done, and Orihime hops down in her new school uniform.

The woman who did the alterations shoots a tired look at Sora. "Energetic little thing, isn't she?"

Sora nods and hands over the sum he owes her. "The world of our apartment's getting a little small for her, I think."

"Well when school starts I guarantee you she'll wish she'd stayed in that small world."

"Maybe."

-0-0-0-

Tomorrow, Orihime gets up over an hour early and won't leave Sora alone until he gets up too. "First day of school!" she squeals in his ear and Sora resists the urge to knock her off the bed—he doesn't want to do anything that might hurt her. "Come on, Sora! Get up!"

"Okay, okay, let me get dressed."

At five years old Orihime is cheerful as a kitten and lively as a battery. If she wants others to pay attention to her she doesn't have to do anything; almost everyone is automatically entranced, including her brother, and Sora starts to wonder what sort of politician Orihime might make, if her voice is so compelling that one can't help but listen to what she says.

Sora walks into the kitchen in a daze—_Damn it, out of coffee again_—and, dressed and ready for work after walking Orihime to school, starts to put the sandwich and the juice box into the battered tin lunchbox for her lunch.

"Are you ready?"

Orihime comes running out of her room. "How do I look?" she demands excitedly.

He turns around, and Sora feels his blood freeze in his veins when he takes a good look at her in that school uniform for the first time.

The pleated skirt and neckerchief of the seifuku uniform are both pale powder blue, the shirt a pristine, bleached white—Sora can't remember the last time he saw a white so blinding.

His breath chokes because Sora knows he's seen this before.

From time to time, their mother would go out dressed like that. Certain clientele had schoolgirl fetishes and wanted a woman who could pull off the look. Inoue Sorami would go out wearing the shortest black pleated skirt she could find, the longest black socks, a red neckerchief and a white shirt, drenching her neck in some floral perfume and wearing only blush as far as make-up goes, and Sora has to admit that when she took something resembling proper care of herself Sorami could look properly youthful and something resembling beautiful, in a dirty sort of way. Looking at her trying to resemble a girl twenty years her junior always made Sora uncomfortable, in more ways than one.

All that would have to be done is add some knee-socks (and that will be done in the winter), dye the skirt black and the neckerchief red and dye Orihime's hair chestnut brown, and she would look just like her mother. The resemblance is truly frightening.

The huge, split smile on Orihime's falters when she sees Sora's whitened face. "What's wrong?" she asks in a small, voice, fidgeting with her skirt. "Is there food stuck in my teeth?" She holds her mouth open wide, revealing small teeth with a wide gap between the two front teeth.

_Damn it, get a hold of yourself. _Sora smiles and pats his sister's shoulder. "You look fine, Orihime." When her brow doesn't remove itself from it's furrowed, Sora hands her Orihime her lunchbox and starts to usher her out the door. "It's alright; I was just distracted for a moment. Let's get you to school."

He still feels like there's a ghost in his sister's flesh.


	6. 06: Put Up the Mask

**Title**: Put Up the Mask**  
>AN**: Okay, a bit of ridiculously ironic symbolism at the end. If you splutter and think "_How stupid!"_, I won't blame you.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>Sora sits at the kitchen table and reads the newspaper, but he's not really reading at all past the current article.<p>

_Tips for Parental Discipline by Hayashi Asami_

It's the typical things, the old "spare the rod, spoil the child vs. use the rod, beat the child" arguments. How certain parents find it appropriate to spank, others to strike their children with a belt, and still more to withhold food as punishment for wrongdoings. Some advocate time outs but are often overwhelmed by children who are decidedly _not_ contrite.

It makes Sora uncomfortable in a way nothing else can.

Orihime's a good girl; there's no denying that. She doesn't often get into trouble, not if she can help it. Part of the reason she's such a rule-following sort of girl is natural inclination; the other part is the part that's seen what Sora's like when he's angry and _never_ wants to be on the receiving end of it. Orihime is well-behaved and polite and as far as Sora knows she'll stay that way.

The idea of discipline still bothers him. Or, maybe, it's not the idea of discipline as much as what that entails.

_Pain, the infliction of it. This terrifies you more than anything else, both suffering it and forcing it on someone else, that 'someone else' being your sister. Your past still chases you, even now?_

There's no thought less attractive to Sora than the one that he might be connected to his parents in any way other than his surname. Being anything like his parents terrifies him, eats away—Orihime notices the cracks behind that smile and it makes her own falter just a little bit. She's too observant for her own good.

He doesn't want to be like his parents. Sora doesn't want to be the alcoholic willing to beat a child for crying. He doesn't want to be the cheap whore who looks at her children as potential game pieces. The thought of being like them is like a nightmare on top of a nightmare, because just what would happen to Orihime then?

Sora knows what would happen. And that's the worst of it. He feels like he's spending every day restraining a flash of temper from emerging and that if he ever so much as touches Orihime it will break her. It's like having a spun glass sister, and nothing's more horrifying than the thought of looking into that glass and seeing his father's eyes staring back.

He puts down the newspaper; he's done with it and there's nothing of merit here. Just words to choke on. Just words to make a waking nightmare more intense, to make a life of walking on eggshells more difficult.

He got off early today and Orihime will be home any minute. Time to put that mask back up. If Sora doesn't draw that calm, smiling, brotherly mask up now she won't be comfortable.

Even if Orihime can still see through the cracks, Sora will wear the mask for her.


	7. 07: She Sees Everything

**Title**: She Sees Everything**  
>AN**: First chapter from Orihime's perspective; don't know that we're going to have a whole lot of these.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>On one side she sees the sun shining and Orihime is more than willing to admit that she can see this side of her brother clear as day. On the other side there is deepest night, without even a sliver of moon to light the world, and in that place there are things Orihime sees in Sora that she doesn't like to think about.<p>

You know, she's not afraid of him no matter what face he takes, no matter how dark or dirty or absolutely blood-curdling. That's got a great deal to do with the fact that Sora's never turned that face on her, Orihime suspects. She might be a bit intimidated when she sees that black look come over her brother's face, but never properly afraid. There's little in the realm of the apartment and the elementary school that can leave Inoue Orihime truly afraid. Fear is for being sent to the principal's office and accidentally breaking something, not for Sora.

All the same, she doesn't like to think about it afterwards, when that different face (so similar and yet a foreign landscape; jaw locks up, lips thin, eyes narrow and become the eyes of someone older and angrier than her brother is supposed to be) comes out to play.

Sora on dayside smiles for his sister and is almost never angry with her. He's never raised a hand to her in her life (_Still, whenever she's done something wrong Orihime still flinches and expects a blow to come down. She doesn't know why; niisan has never hurt her and yet she still expects to be hit, it's very confusing._) and he doesn't raise his voice when he scolds her.

Sora on dayside makes a sandwich for Orihime's lunch and plays board games with her in the evening. He helps her with her homework, takes her through it with the patience of a saint, not that Orihime needs much help—for all that she's a bit of a scatterbrain Orihime is also one of the brightest students in her class; everything comes to her with insane ease, leaving Sora to scratch his head when she doesn't need any help at all with math homework and only a little bit with her reading.

With sunlight on his face Sora is responsible, easy to talk to, the best brother any little girl could ask for. That's how Orihime likes it best.

But it's not always like that.

She watches night fall like a curtain crashing to the ground. Almost anything can trigger it. A cut on her hand, a man threatening either one of them in any way. The sound of shouting between a man and a woman. Even simple things like cigarette smoke or a glass of sake. Orihime resists the urge to back away as the telltale stiffening of the back and clenching of the fists come.

Sora thinks she can't see it. He's wrong. Orihime sees everything. She always has.

_You're not yourself when you're like this._

Orihime doesn't bring it up—she's learning how to keep things to herself, how to hold secrets close and tight in the dark places inside of her. If Sora thinks all she sees is the sunlight, than she is happy to give him that illusion. If it makes him happy, she's content. Just a little bit of mercy.

She barely even admits to herself what she sees. But she sees everything.


	8. 08: About Women

**Title**: About Women**  
>AN**: I've wondered for a while whether Sora ever had a girlfriend while he was alive. Don't ask me why I wondered; these things just nag at me.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>When the guys at work talk about their girlfriends, their wives, that girl down the street they think is criminally hot but don't quite have the courage to talk to, Sora just nods along, sometimes laughs along, and never volunteers any information of his own. When the conversation starts to get noticeably risqué, his eyes glaze over but he says nothing.<p>

It's only when he gets home that Sora really starts to think about all that.

Orihime's gone to bed. At seven thirty it's a little earlier than usual for her to be doing so but apparently school was tiring today and a seven-year-old's mind and body can only take so much. She has collapsed on her little twin bed and until Sora closed the door the soft pulse of her breathing filled the whole apartment.

Now Sora's at the window, staring out and watching the rain drench the street below. Raindrops pound against the window like knocking on the roof of his skull and Sora rubs his forehead, eyes tired and glassy.

He doesn't think he's ever thought seriously about having a girlfriend or getting married. Sure, Sora's _thought_ about women; with a prostitute for a mother it's kind of hard not to think about women. He's thought about women but Sora's never really given thought to women in relation to him.

Sometimes, Sora wonders if he's missing something, anything at all. These men both older and younger, when they talk about their families, about their children, there's this undeniable aura of completion about them (Unless they're unhappy in their marriage; then, completion couldn't be any further from the truth). Sora raises an eyebrow and just watches, not entirely sure what he's seeing.

Again Sora's thought about women in a sexual sense. Given his raising it's hard not to and everyone does, whether in the most detached sense or the most erotic; that's just a fact of life. He's never seriously contemplated a relationship with one, but he has thought about them.

And that's just the thing.

Sora supposes he doesn't need a girlfriend or a wife or a girl down the street he watches but isn't brave enough to talk to. He supposes he could blame it on his mother—she's made him more than uncomfortable enough when it comes to women, made him more than awkward enough when it comes to his thoughts—but that's not enough and Sora can only look inward. His life is complicated enough; his life is complete enough. If there's something he's "missing" then at least Sora will never know what that something is.

_Besides, _he thinks to himself, still watching the rain fall, _I can't think of too many girls who'd be happy to have to share their boyfriend with their boyfriend's little sister. I'm better off like I am. _


	9. 09: Run From Mommy

**Title**: Run From Mommy**  
>AN**: Squicky undertones ahoy.**  
>Disclaimer<strong>: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

><p>He tries his best to avoid her but the problem is that there's no way to get home that doesn't involve passing the street lamp she's leaning against. Beyond that, Sora supposes he could have just refused to acknowledge her. Plenty of people do that; anyone who isn't interested in the services of a prostitute or isn't looking to arrest them usually do.<p>

So easily could Sora simply have acted as though there was no one there leaning against the lamp post, but he can't even manage that. He doesn't know why he looks at her, why he stops, or why he chooses to greet her. Maybe it's out of the urge to be polite—probably not. Maybe it's because Sora's a bit of a masochist where these things are concerned—possibly. Maybe it's just because he wants to show his mother up—most likely.

"Hello Mother," Sora greets her stiffly, pausing in front of the lamp post.

Inoue Sorami hasn't changed much. There's still a cigarette poised in between her teeth, still the stench of the smoke clinging to every inch of her. She's still got cheap blonde highlights in her brown hair; her clothes are still skimpy and threadbare; she's even got that old scar on her calf like Sora remembers.

Brown eyes, drooping and framed in mascara, focus on Sora. For a moment, Sorami doesn't seem to recognize him. Her eyes narrow and she frowns. Then, a flicker of recognition passes over her face.

"The prodigal son returns," Sorami murmurs, tone and eyes unreadable but a bit of a sardonic smirk playing around her lips. "All dressed up and ready for work. And here I'd thought you'd gone and died in the gutter somewhere."

"I'd thought the same of you, Mother." It's a fight to keep his lip from curling and Sora knows how chilly his face must be, but Sorami seems absolutely unimpressed and as far from cowed as possible. That's in line of what Sora remembers of her; for all her faults Sorami was never easy to frighten.

The raspy whisper of a laugh rises and Sorami's face softens into a small smile as her eyes go to the ground. Sora bites his lip and fights the urge to take a step backward. He's always hated the way his mother smiles. She almost looks like someone Sora could like when she smiles and Orihime is developing a smile just like hers. "You know me; I always survive." Sorami discards her cigarette and looks Sora square in the eye. "Your father's died; I thought you should know."

"I wish I could say I'm sorry to hear that." That's all she'll get out of him and if she thinks Sora will ask exactly how he died she's dead wrong.

Sora's lack of grief doesn't exactly seem to perturb his mother. "Drink got him," she remarks indifferently. "Had to happen sooner or later; he's in the potter's field now." That's where just about everyone in their old neighborhood ends up, it seems. "So." Sorami's tone is brisk and just as uninterested as ever. "The brat still with us?"

This time, Sora doesn't bother to stop himself from curling his lip and his eyes are like ice as he responds. "If by 'brat' you're referring to Orihime, yes, and she's quite well." _Better than how you left her, _he adds.

Sorami inspects her chipped red nails. "Hmm." A shrewd, suggestive look comes over her face and she looks Sora up and down; _Oh God, not this again_. "You could come back you know."

A wave of bile climbs up his throat; Sora recoils. "Not if it was to save my life," he snarls.

"Not just you," Sorami amends. "You could bring Orihime too. Things would be different this time. Well…" she pauses, pursing her lips "…not _entirely _different."

Sora doesn't answer.

"You know, it really is remarkable just how much you look like your father."

This is all too real; this is all too familiar. Sora grits his teeth and wills himself to move. _Walk away; just walk away. Don't look back; don't _ever_ look back._

"That's right, run away from Mommy like you always did," Sorami calls after him, raspy voice dry and deadpan. "But I'll always be there, in your mind."

Sora knows that.

It's what he's afraid of.


End file.
